A Change of Vision
by Syldana
Summary: [Yaoi] TezuRyo. TezukaxRyoma and a bit of TakaxFuji. A party. A prank. A realization. Just where are Tezuka's glasses, anyway? [complete]


**Disclaimer**: Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi Takeshi and other people who are not me.

* * *

**A Change of Vision  
**

Sighing to himself, Tezuka Kunimitsu took another careful sip of his drink, praying that it really was just the tangy fruit punch that Fuji had claimed. However, Fuji had been smiling serenely when he had made such positive assurances earlier in the evening, and with Fuji that could mean just about anything. At least it tasted all right.

From one of the quieter corners of Fuji's house, Tezuka let his eyes peruse the living room, yet again, for there didn't seem to be much else for him to do. He was still wondering what had possessed him to even go to this party, or, for that matter, _any_ party of Fuji's, especially after Fuji's last wild debacle had nearly landed half of his regulars in jail the previous year.

Of course, that was exactly why he was there, now. With the new tennis season about to start, Tezuka was not going to let anything ruin their chances of winning the Nationals this year. Their team had managed to win the Kantou Regional Tournament two straight years in a row, but, unfortunately, victory at the Nationals had eluded them both times. This year, however, Seigaku was complete once again.

Almost unthinkingly, and not for the first time that night, Tezuka felt his gaze drawn to the dark-haired freshman sitting wordlessly beside Momoshiro on one of the large sofas. Momoshiro was currently engaged in a rather animated conversation with an athletic-looking brunette across the coffee table, and Echizen Ryoma appeared to be as outwardly bored as Tezuka was inwardly. A small, electrifying charge of adrenaline surged through his body at the sight of him, just as it always did, as it had from the first moment he had seen Echizen play. They were definitely going to win this year, just as they had back in middle school.

Echizen hadn't changed much; he was older, a little taller, maybe, but, then, so was Tezuka. The younger boy's tennis, however, had grown phenomenally over the last few years, just as Tezuka had known it would. Tezuka could hardly wait to test his own game against the extraordinary ability that Echizen had been displaying at practice, and from all of the bold, challenging looks Echizen had been sending his way since school began, Tezuka had no doubt he felt the same way.

As if his mind had been read, Echizen's gaze suddenly rose to meet his own. The expression of boredom instantly melted into a bright, knowing intensity, challenge lighting a brilliant fire in golden eyes, with just a hint of a smile curving his mouth. Tezuka blinked as he was caught staring, yet returned Echizen's questioning regard steadily.

Echizen's lips twisted a moment in mutual agreement of the party's tiresome nature, then he pressed his inquiry with a small arch of his brow. It was tempting, very tempting, yet Tezuka responded with a slight shake of his head. Disappointment flooded the boy's eyes before they slid petulantly away.

Amusement danced blithely behind Tezuka's outward composure. Echizen had truly not changed at all.

"Having fun?" a soft, familiar voice queried artfully into his ear.

"Yes," Tezuka answered politely, though the reply contained a questionable amount of truth. He angled his head to see Fuji peering up at him with sharp, mischievous eyes, his smile more conspicuously pronounced than usual.

"I just had a wonderful idea," Fuji said casually, as if this statement did _not_ just send a shiver of trepidation up Tezuka's spine.

"Oh?"

"Yes," Fuji returned with a tranquil nod. "I'll need to borrow these, though." His hand reached up and unceremoniously plucked the glasses off Tezuka's nose.

Tezuka blinked in surprise and at the sudden blurring of his vision. "Fuji—"

"Don't worry," he said mirthfully, cutting him off with a wave. "I'll bring them back to you soon. Thank you, Tezuka."

"But—"

Fuji stopped his objection with a single finger and an enigmatic smile, and then vanished into the sea of bodies now shifting blearily before him.

Tezuka sighed again, his hand rising to rub exasperatedly at the crease between his eyebrows. It appeared that this was going to be a very, very long night.

* * *

Glowering bemusedly into the crowd, Ryoma was doing his best to ignore the ear-piercingly shrill giggle of the girl across the table. For the hundredth time, he wondered what the hell he was doing there. Momoshiro had loudly insisted that he come to this party tonight, but, as usual, Ryoma had been all but forgotten the second the taller boy had zeroed on some annoying brunette. 

Honestly, he just couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. None of the girls he'd ever met had seemed especially different or special from any other person. For that matter, there was hardly anyone in the world who could hold his interest for any significant length of time. Ryoma could literally count them on one hand, and it was usually only when playing tennis with them. He couldn't actually say that he'd ever found anyone physically attractive, either, not in the way the other boys at school seemed to, anyway. He was beginning to wonder if he truly was a "late bloomer" as his mother was always rationalizing to the old man, or if everyone else was just crazy. Momoshiro certainly appeared to have lost his mind completely.

Ryoma sighed and scowled harder, turning his glare on the tall, brown-haired boy still standing alone in the far corner of the room. Why was holding up the damned wall more interesting than playing a match? A match with _him_? He had been waiting to play Tezuka again for so long. Why did he think Ryoma was even at this school?

Ryoma glared at him for a long time, but not once did Tezuka meet his eyes. He didn't know if Tezuka was ignoring him on purpose—a possibility that truly pissed him off—or if Ryoma's presence was simply that insignificant—which was even worse. Damn it, the guy couldn't avoid him forever.

He kept the evil eye fixed on Tezuka for a while longer, but the anger quickly became too much of a bother to maintain and so it gradually faded. However, the stare remained.

A small frown touched Ryoma's lips as he silently considered him. He couldn't quite put a finger on it, but something seemed different about the Seigaku captain. It couldn't just be the clothing. Ryoma had seen Tezuka in street clothes before, although, the jeans and loose-fitting shirt did look rather good on him. His facial expression was as cool and impassive as always, nevertheless Ryoma could tell that Tezuka was just as bored as he was. So, what was it, then? Had he changed his hair? Had he gotten it cut or something?

Ryoma's frown deepened as he pushed himself to his feet, then started across the room to inspect him closer. Tezuka didn't acknowledge him as he slowly closed the distance between them, although his eyes appeared to graze right over him. Irritation pricked Ryoma once again as he approached, yet his curiosity was needling him far more vigorously. It was actually making his stomach churn. In fact, the closer he got, the harder it seemed to churn.

He came to an abrupt halt just a few yards away, his breath catching oddly in his throat, his heart beating unusually fast. Tezuka had just turned his head to the side, his chin tilting upward at a slight angle, his eyes gazing out at something in the distance.

Ryoma stared.

He stared, unmoving, unblinking, until his eyes began to sting and his chest was literally aching with the need for oxygen. Then, after a short, mind-blowing eternity, he forcibly drew in a breath, long and tremulous, his eyes wide with wonder, his mouth open in entranced awe.

"Oh," he breathed out, stupidly, and to no one in particular. However, Tezuka turned immediately at the sound, and Ryoma was suddenly confronted with the deep, warm brown of his eyes. He felt his face suffuse with heat.

"Echizen?" he questioned softly.

Had his voice always sounded that way? Like rich, liquid velvet?

Ryoma's own voice was lodged helplessly in his throat, his tongue feeling thick and dry as he stared dumbly up at the older boy.

Tezuka stepped forward. "Ah, it is you," he said, stopping within mere inches. Towering above him, Tezuka's presence was almost overwhelming. The light scent of cologne, mingled with that of Tezuka's own unique self, drifted gently over to coil pleasantly around him. "Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked.

Ryoma blinked several times and then wordlessly nodded.

"Good," he said. "Have you seen Fuji?"

After a moment's reflection, Ryoma shook his head.

"I see," he said. "If you do, please let him know that I'm looking for him."

Ryoma nodded again.

Then, after a brief nod of thanks, Tezuka turned from him and began walking away. Ryoma's eyes widened in abrupt alarm, and his hand seemed to move of its own accord, reaching to catch hold of Tezuka's arm.

"Buchou!" he blurted out, clumsily, tightly gripping his sleeve. Tezuka glanced back at him in surprise. "Play a match with me," he said blindly, striving to keep his tone normal.

"I can't" he returned, his inflection crisp with a hint of annoyance. Ryoma released him at the sound of it. "As you can see, Fuji has taken my glasses," Tezuka went on, his irritation mounting. "I can't do much of anything without them."

Glasses? Fuji had his glasses? Oh… yeah… they were gone. Ryoma blinked. That's what was different about him.

"Another time, then?" he mumbled, feeling a sudden benumbing chill.

"Yes," Tezuka replied tersely, obliviously, then strode away from him, presumably in search of the elusive Fuji.

Left in his wake, Ryoma stood alone, numb and motionless, his vision focused on absolutely nothing at all.

Tezuka.

Tezuka-buchou.

Why had he never noticed it before?

A peculiar warmth kindled somewhere deep within, instantly thawing the cold stupor that had momentarily possessed him, and heating his skin once more from the inside out. As the color rose high in his cheeks, the corners of Ryoma's mouth curled into a small, pleased smile.

Of course. Tezuka-buchou.

Who else could it be?

Tezuka.

Tezuka Kunimitsu.

He had not refused the match this time, either. Not really. They could probably find an available court somewhere. If not, Ryoma would figure out a way to light the one at home. All they needed were Tezuka's glasses and they were good to go.

Fuji. He had to find Fuji.

The task turned out to be more difficult than was first presumed. This was Fuji's house, Fuji's party, but Fuji wasn't anywhere to be found. After thoroughly searching the entire downstairs, Ryoma moved on to the upstairs floor.

The hallway was dark, as were the rooms along the length of it, except for one. A faint light was shining out through the open crack of a doorway down at the far end. Ryoma made his way there without vacillation, until he actually reached the door, that is.

It was the sounds that stopped him first, soft, muted, and strange, halting him just before his hand touched the door. His gaze leapt through the tiny opening, lured involuntarily in by the unfamiliar noises, and abruptly froze in astonishment, right along with the rest of his body.

Ryoma could hear his own heart roaring like thunder between his ears, the loud, pendulous rhythm rapidly increasing as his blood ostensibly caught fire. His breathing went shallow, quick and erratic, as the fire surged wildly through his veins, igniting every molecule of his flesh with a sudden, burning awareness.

All he could see was skin, pale and luminous, bare and brazen, shifting, moving, gliding together as one, synchronous whole. Fuji's head was thrown back in an expression of sheer, unbounded bliss, his slender arms wrapped tightly around Kawamura's broad shoulders as he writhed gracefully in the curve of the larger boy's lap. Kawamura was moaning deeply, muffling the low, hoarse sounds of pleasure against the smooth arch of Fuji's throat with long, suckling kisses.

Ryoma could only stand there and stare, and feel, and burn.

There was a distant part of him that knew he should leave, that this was a private moment he had not been invited to witness, however, that small voice of reason was dampened considerably beneath the raging conflagration of need now searing through his being.

It wasn't Fuji, nor Kawamura, exactly. It wasn't altogether the impact of seeing such an intimate, sensual scene for the first time, either. It was much more simple, and, yet, at the same time exceedingly more complicated than that.

It was quite simply the glasses.

Perched innocently upon Kawamura's nose, were Tezuka-buchou's glasses. And, at the moment, they were holding Ryoma utterly spellbound.

* * *

As he slowly made his way up the stairs, Tezuka could feel the beginnings of a headache pinching the nerves right between his eyes. He didn't know if it was from the distorted vision or from the abiding frustration he felt at the evening's vexatious turn of events. Either way, he had decided it was time to leave. It was long past time, actually. He should have taken Echizen's offer when he'd had the chance. 

The only source of light at the top of the stairs was a faint, blurry radiance at the end of the hall. Even with his diminished eyesight, Tezuka could easily discern that to be Fuji's brother's room, and Tezuka knew from Fuji that Yuuta was not at home this weekend. He didn't know why Fuji had taken his glasses, and, quite frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to, but he was definitely going to get them back before he left. As he drew nearer to the light, however, a small, shadowy figure came into hazy focus stationed before the door and slowly crystallized into a familiar dark-haired form.

Echizen was just standing there stock-still, his gaze riveted to the small crack in the door, and in the dim light he looked… distressed. Tezuka was now right beside him and he hadn't even noticed yet.

Frowning slightly in puzzlement, Tezuka reached over and laid a hand on his shoulder to gain his attention. Echizen gasped at the unexpected contact, his head jerking up in startlement, his chest heaving with short, ragged breaths. Wide eyes peered anxiously up at him, their glistening depths permeated with shock and something else Tezuka couldn't quite make out. Beneath his palm, Echizen's shoulder felt incredibly warm and was shaking with tiny, uncontrollable tremors.

Tezuka's bewilderment instantly mutated into concern. His frown deepened as he turned toward the door, searching to find what could possibly have upset him. Echizen Ryoma's feathers were not so easily ruffled.

Squinting his eyes, Tezuka couldn't see much of anything through the slim opening, not in his current state. There was a rather pale, fuzzy blob moving around within, though who they were or how many, he couldn't say for sure. From the curious noises they were making…

Oh.

Tezuka was suddenly thankful for the lack of light as he felt the blood rush to his cheeks. From the familiar sound of their voices, it wasn't difficult to identify the entwined couple as Fuji and Kawamura. With his flawless golden eyes, of course, Tezuka was certain that Echizen could see them both quite clearly. Suppressing an outward wince, the painful throbbing in Tezuka's forehead grew considerably more pronounced. No wonder Echizen was so visibly disturbed.

Inwardly admonishing Fuji and Kawamura for their carelessness, Tezuka turned back to the equally silent Echizen, unsure of what precisely to do in a situation such as this. Echizen's astonished gaze was still steadily fixed on his face, his breathing still manifestly irregular, his body still quaking beneath his touch. It was then that Tezuka realized his fingers were practically digging into the younger boy's flesh. Blinking in surprise, Tezuka immediately released him.

Tezuka stared at him for several, deliberating minutes, then flicked his gaze to the door directly behind the boy. The decision was made in one quick, unwavering heartbeat. A moment later he was through the door, dragging an unresisting Echizen in with him by the wrist. His free hand fumbled for the light switch and then closed the door behind them. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to say, but he felt that he should at least try to calm Echizen down, no matter how awkward the circumstances. Turning to face him, Tezuka nervously cleared his throat and opened his mouth to begin.

Without any warning whatsoever, Echizen's arm wreathed up and around the back of his neck, his fingers threading tightly through Tezuka's hair, and then tugged forcefully downward. Tezuka's gasp of surprise was instantly smothered as their mouths clashed and tangled, Echizen's warm, wet tongue slipping effortlessly inside to glide against his own. Tezuka went utterly still.

Echizen's lips slid warmly over his, the feel of them soft and smooth and demanding as all hell. Echizen's tongue stroked and caressed with impassioned fervor, tasting, provoking, enticing, with a tenacious, insistent exaction. The fingers at Tezuka's neck held him firmly in place as Echizen licked and savored every inch of his mouth.

Echizen's hand twisted easily out of his paralyzed grasp and moved to encircle his waist, and then Tezuka's balance was lost as Echizen pushed and maneuvered him backward. Tezuka's mouth was abruptly released as his calves hit the side of Fuji's bed, which he promptly sat down on. Yet Echizen was still there and his hands had not once left Tezuka's body.

Bright, golden eyes held him completely transfixed as they drew nearer once again, Echizen deftly stepping into the space between Tezuka's thighs. His hand drifted from Tezuka's neck to his cheek, followed shortly thereafter by the other as it rose to the opposing side, until Tezuka's head was cradled gently between them. Echizen's fingers trembled still as they carefully traced the planes of his face, then wove their way deep into his hair.

It…

His lips descended again to brush lightly against Tezuka's own, his tongue darting out to sweep across the inner lining.

…was…

His head was slowly tilted back as Echizen deepened the kiss, delving further into his mouth with slow, tantalizing dips.

…not…

Then Echizen's hands moved again, passing gently over his cheeks and neck, across his shoulders and down his back. His hips leaned into him, pressing flush against Tezuka's torso. They were so close that Tezuka could feel the wild, jolting shudder as it traveled through Echizen's entire body, evoking a low moan from Echizen's throat as the kiss ever intensified.

…enough.

A small, unintelligible sound rumbled deeply in his own throat as his arms coiled tightly around the boy, pulling him closer, engaging his mouth more fully with a fierce rejoinder. Echizen moaned again at the ferocity of his response as Tezuka kissed him with everything he had, with everything he hadn't dared to let himself feel. All of the don'ts and shoulds were now lost within the overwhelming force of want and need. He wanted this. He needed Echizen.

Tezuka broke the kiss only to trail more across Echizen's fair features and down his throat. Echizen gasped aloud and arched into him.

"Buchou, touch me like that," he murmured huskily, his voice raising the hairs on Tezuka's flesh. "I want you like that."

Tezuka knew precisely what he meant, and it sent tiny thrills of pleasure shooting through him. He hadn't gotten too clear a look at Fuji and Kawamura, but he knew enough to groan a simple acquiescence. And, hopefully, he also knew enough to satisfy Echizen's remarkably avaricious appetite.

* * *

"Hey, Syusuke, did you hear something?" 

"Mmm, nothing worth getting up for, I'm sure."

"Can I take these off now?"

"If you like. I don't think there's any real hurry, though."

"You mean they actually belong to someone?"

"Mmm, but don't worry, Taka. I'm sure they're both enjoying themselves, by now. He looked so terribly bored before."

"Who's that?"

"Echizen."

* * *

Tezuka lay back on the bed, absently listening as their breathing slowed and their bodies cooled, his eyes staring dazedly up at the ceiling. Echizen's smaller form was draped haphazardly across his chest, his bare skin slick and warm beneath Tezuka's palms. Tezuka's emotions felt abnormally jumbled, raw, exposed, as if his soul had been blown wide open and everything, _everything_, was now different. 

He had just had sex with Echizen.

He was still reeling from the impact. Nothing had prepared him for that. He had never, ever expected…

He had just had _sex_ with _Echizen_.

What had he been thinking? Had he even _been_ thinking? Echizen had kissed him and all reason had instantly evaporated from his head. What had Ryoma been thinking?

Echizen was one of his regulars. He was his _captain_. This was not at all a part of his plans. It was about tennis, nothing more, just tennis. That's what it always was about between them. As his captain, it was his responsibility to help Ryoma in any way that he could. So what the hell was this?

Selfishness. Pure and utter selfishness. He had forgotten everything: his duty, his decorum, his veritable sense of self. All because Ryoma… Ryoma…

His arms tightened reflexively around Echizen's shoulders, his fingers twining possessively into his dark, sweat-damp hair. Ryoma stirred, the back of his neck pushing into Tezuka's touch as he stretched indolently against him. A moment later he was met with a smug smile and a lazy, half-lidded gaze. Thoroughly ensnared, Tezuka could not make himself let go.

Echizen stared at him for a long, contemplating while, until the smile faded and his eyes sharpened with a brilliant clarity.

"You can stop, now," he said in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, still regarding Tezuka intently. "It's already far too late. This wasn't a mistake, and I'm not going to pretend it never happened. So, you might as well accept it now, Buchou, because I'm not about to let you go." His mouth curved once more into a small, knowing smirk, though his eyes were now brightly aglow with a fierce determination.

Startled by Ryoma's intensity, Tezuka let his fingers wander questioningly over his features. Was it really just as simple as that? It couldn't possibly be, of course. Nothing ever was. However, Echizen was ruthlessly and relentlessly stubborn, and Tezuka had seen that look on his face before.

Mada mada, was it?

The incredible upsurge of emotion that accompanied such a bold and daring sentiment was nearly overwhelming. And then it _was_ overwhelming and Tezuka had to shut his eyes as the force of it washed over him. Somewhere deep within the core his being, he was shaking uncontrollably. It was a long, excruciating while before he could open them again, and even then they felt unusually moist.

Echizen was still sprawled comfortably across his torso, watching him carefully, patiently awaiting his response. Tezuka took several deep, self-collecting breaths.

"I hope you never do," he said finally, his voice nothing more than a soft, gruff whisper.

Ryoma's smile grew significantly wider, then he leaned in close to demand a kiss.


End file.
